Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages онлайн

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To seen this flour agein the sonnė sprede,

When hit uprysith erly by the morwe;

That blisful sightė softneth all my sorwėssss1....

And whan that hit is eve, I rennė blyve,[8]

As soon as evere the sonnė ginneth weste,

To seen this flour, how it wol go to reste,

For fere of nyght, so hateth she derknesse!...

Geoffrey Chaucer

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What bird so sings, yet so does wail?

O, 'tis the ravished nightingale!

"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,

And still her woes at midnight rise.

Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear?

None but the lark so shrill and clear;

Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,

The morn not waking till she sings.

Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat

Poor robin-redbreast tunes his note;

Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing

Cuckoo—to welcome in the spring!

Cuckoo—to welcome in the spring!

John Lyly

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Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;

Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,

Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing: